


A Bargain (The Best I Ever Had)

by trinityofone



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dealfic, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-20
Updated: 2010-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 04:30:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trinityofone/pseuds/trinityofone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A response to a blindfold_spn prompt: <i>Lilith told Sam that to seal a deal with her would require more than a kiss. What if the same were true for Crowley as well, and tongue isn't the only thing Bobby needed to use? Bonus points if a weird, consensual relationship ensues.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bargain (The Best I Ever Had)

Bobby can't say he's surprised when Crowley appears in his bedroom. His real bedroom on the second floor that, thanks to Crowley, Bobby's only recently reclaimed. The demon smiles and Bobby doesn't even need him to say it to know what he's here for. But he does anyway, clearly relishing it: “I've come to fulfill the second half of our bargain.”

“You're gonna give me my soul back?”

Crowley's smile twists across his face like a snake. “Yes. But you have to fulfill the second half of _your_ agreement first.”

Bobby wants to argue. He wants to pretend, if only for a second, that he's come up with some other, brilliant way to weasel out of this. But there's no point, because he hasn't. So he just growls, “Fine. Get it over with, then.”

The demon's smirk turns slightly wry. “Ahh, just what a man wants to hear.”

“You're _not_ a man,” Bobby points out, viciously.

“I am,” Crowley whispers, slinking closer, until his breath is hot in Bobby's ear. “In all the ways that count.”

Bobby hides his shudder by jerking off his cap, fumbling his fingers down to the top button of his shirt.

But Crowley seems determined not to let Bobby have his way with that, either. “Allow me,” he says silkily, slipping in front of Bobby so they're face to face, breathing the same air. The demon's fingers are swift and quick, but gentle, caressing. He slides soft touches down Bobby's sides, over the skin of his shoulders. Bobby hasn't been undressed like this in a long time: like the _last_ thing the person he's with wants to do is get it over with.

“You're a bastard,” Bobby spits.

“I know,” says Crowley. He leans in for a kiss.

Bobby jerks away. “Uh-uh. You already got your kiss.”

The demon's mouth shifts easily from a pucker to a sneer. “All right, Julia Roberts,” he says. “We'll do it your way.”

Crowley releases him. His head held high, like he's going to the chopping block, Bobby starts toward the bed. He lets out a grunt—not a _gasp_ —when Crowley snags his wrist again immediately, jerking him away from the mattress. “No,” he says. “Let's see how those new legs of yours are holding up.”

Which is how Bobby finds himself naked, hands to the wall, with a fully-clothed demon pressed against his back and thoroughly groping his ass. “My,” Crowley says, “you really are a pretty woman.”

“Is that your fantasy?” Bobby asks through gritted teeth. “Guess I'm not getting a reach-around, then.”

“Your assessment of my prowess is crushing.” Bobby feels Crowley's teeth graze his neck, so close to his jugular it sends a shiver up his spine. “Whatever did I do to give you such a poor opinion of me?”

“Where do I _start_?” Bobby says, mostly because he's having a hard time thinking of specifics, or much of anything, right now. Crowley has obviously taken Bobby's jibe about a reach-around far too seriously, because his hand is sweeping sensuously across Bobby's stomach, dipping down toward his dick. Bobby is embarrassed to feel it rising to the occasion, Crowley's soft touches growing rough as he grips Bobby's cock, coaxing it to full hardness in his hand. Like everything else the demon does, these movements are precise and skilled, and slightly teasing, thumb swirling over his cockhead while Crowley's other hand moves downward to massage his balls.

“Enough foreplay,” Bobby grits out, stifling another gasp. “Fuck me already.”

“Well,” Crowley purrs in his ear. “If you insist.”

Bobby's not sure what he's expecting at this point: earlier he had imagined the demon just jamming it in there; now he wouldn't be surprised if Crowley insists on slowly teasing him open for another goddamn twenty minutes. What he gets turns out to be something in between: Crowley's fingers swift and efficient, cool and slick with lube as they scissor him open; then the demon's cock sliding in with one surprising stroke. Bobby makes a _sound_ , halfway between pain and pleasure; the latter comes as a complete surprise to him. As does the gathering heat in his belly as Crowley drives into him, forcing him forward against the cracked-plaster wall. Bobby's sweaty fingertips slide across it like a dragonfly on the surface of a lake. He feels like his knees are going to buckle, but Crowley grips him firmly by the hip with one hand, palms his cock with the other. He knows he's making little needy, desperate noises, but Crowley's making them, too: whispered obscenities in English, in ancient languages Bobby knows and in ones he's never even heard before. Crowley presses closer to him, shortening his thrusts until he's not so much driving in as rocking in place, Bobby's unconsciously-begun rolling from heel to toe doing almost as much of the work to keep Crowley moving inside of him. Between bouts of demon Tourette's, Crowley licks and nuzzles at Bobby's spine, bites into his shoulder blades. Then with a final frantic jerking of his hips, he collapses against Bobby's back, pushes him face to the wall as he comes.

Bobby tries to breathe in the coolness of the plaster; he's so freakin' hard it hurts. His legs are also on _fire_ : shaky and quaking with the strain of holding his (their) weight, but full of feeling, which is still something. Point is, he's feeling too boneless to protest when Crowley, somewhat recovered, practically carries him over to the bed, lifting him as if he were a child and dropping him down on the mattress. He pins Bobby with one hand and swiftly, easily takes Bobby's prick in his mouth. He takes it _all_ the way down. Bobby shudders and comes within seconds.

Bobby lies back against the mattress, barely able to lift his head. He can see Crowley still looming over him, licking a stray bit of come off his face and looking, quite literally, like the cat that ate the cream. “Can you feel it?” Crowley asks—and Bobby is amazed: he sounds breathless.

“What?” Mostly Bobby feels a pleasant ache, all over.

Crowley touches his chest, drawing a line down the length of his sternum. “Your soul. Throbbing away within your chest. All yours again.”

“Oh,” Bobby says, and what little tension is left in his body bleeds away. “I always thought that was heartburn.”

Crowley laughs—it sounds genuine for once, not mocking. Bobby's too tired to protest when the mattress dips and the demon stretches out beside him.

Crowley makes some obscure hand gesture and the lights go out. “I just want you to know,” he whispers in the dark, “that you were my first.”

Bobby snorts. “Please.”

“The first soul I've held and then let go,” Crowley says. “It's true.”

Bobby feels weirdly proud. “Good. Maybe this'll teach you some humility.”

“Doubtful.”

It's possible he says more, but Bobby's already fast asleep.

Some hours later, he wakes from a singularly dirty dream to find Crowley licking languidly at his cock. “Wha—what the hell do you think you're doing?”

Crowley glances up at him with wide, falsely innocent eyes. “Trying to get to the tootsie roll center.”

Bobby should tell him to stop. Bobby should kick him out of bed and into a Devil's Trap, exorcise the bastard and send him back to Hell where he belongs. Instead, he shoves a hand into the demon's short crop of hair and say, “If you're gonna suck it, suck it proper.”

Crowley complies with a blowjob that sends Bobby's brain properly packing, to the point where the hunter barely realizes he's hauled Crowley up the bed and is kissing the come off his mouth until he's tasting himself on his own tongue.

“Mmm,” Crowley whispers, lips to his lips. “I feel just like Richard Gere. Only without his predilection for gerbils.”

Bobby makes a choked sound.

“However,” continues Crowley, rutting lazily against Bobby's thigh, “I do like piña coladas, long walks in the rain, spanking, and quite a lot of bondage.”

All of this, Bobby eventually finds out, is true. Except for the bit about the piña coladas.


End file.
